


Red Sky at Night

by daughterofrohan, TheRedGlass



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/F, F/M, and redwing as sam's parrot, ft. the angst of a thousand burning suns, the slowest burn you've ever seen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofrohan/pseuds/daughterofrohan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedGlass/pseuds/TheRedGlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For fifty years, the lost treasure of Margaret Carter has been a legend. A myth. But myths have their roots in truth, and among the fellowship of the pirates, pieces of that truth pass from ship to ship like seabirds. And yet no pirate, no matter how skilled, has ever come close to its reveal. There are whispers of a curse.</p>
<p>That doesn’t stop some from trying. For Captain Natasha Romanoff, the treasure means a fresh start for her and her crew. For Captain Clint Barton, the treasure means the fulfillment of a long ago promise. With both pirate captains ruthlessly dedicated to their cause, the rivals clash repeatedly as their frantic journeys intersect. But in the midst of their confrontations, a third contender arises and threatens them both - Lord Anthony Stark, notorious soldier and wealthy nobleman, is seeking the treasure to gain the favor of Queen Virginia Potts and place himself at the head of the clamor of suitors seeking her hand. And as a noted strategist and enemy to pirates, he poses a grave risk to both captains, not only for the treasure but for their lives. Their only option for survival and success may lie in their ability to lay their swords aside long enough to forge an alliance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey kids! This is the beginning of the collab of epic proportions that I'm doing with Sarah (TheRedGlass). If you follow us on tumblr @natrasharomanova (Jess) or @thereddestglass (Sarah) you've likely seen us talking about this. If not, feel free to drop by and say hi sometime and in the meantime, sit back and enjoy the ride!
> 
> We'll hopefully be working with a semi-regular update schedule (but we're both miserable failures at adult life and things happen, so you may have to be patient with us). 
> 
> And in the interest of not having to scrounge up the money to pay for lawsuits, if you recognize it, we don't own it.

Thunder cracked across the sky like a cannon shot, lightning forking through the clouds above, the sea’s icy grey waves threatening destruction as they loomed higher, higher, higher, before finally crashing down with enough force to strike terror into the hearts of even the strongest seafarers. The rain teemed down relentlessly, threatening to wash away everything in its path. Bad luck, some seafarers might call it. But there were some who believed in something more sinister than sheer luck, some who believed that the Sea was a wild force who must be kept complacent. Anger Her, and she’d swallow you in her wrath. Anger the Sea, and it would be the last thing you ever did.

“The sea takes no prisoners.” It was but a whisper against the roaring cacophony of the storm.

“I don’t intend to become a prisoner,” the captain responded, standing resolutely at the wheel of her ship, hair and cloak drenched in rainwater. “You know this as well as I do, Dugan.”

The two watched from under the secluded cove that had become their refuge as the storm wreaked havoc upon the open sea. The man, Dugan, leaned back, staring up at the ship’s tattered black sails as something akin to nostalgia passed over his face. “She’s seen better days, Carter.”

“Aye,” the captain responded softly. “That she has.”

“Crew’s waitin’ for orders downstairs,” he told her, voice laden with seriousness. “They’d follow you anywhere, you know.”

“I’ll meet you down there in a moment,” she answered, tearing her gaze away from the storm to look into the weathered face of the man next to her. His eyes were the only thing about him that still looked young, she thought, and they burned into her with an intensity that said he knew full well what she was planning to do and intended to follow her nonetheless. She swallowed hard around the lump in the back of her throat. “I need a minute alone.”

“Don’t stay up here too long,” he said gruffly. “You’ll catch your death in this storm.”

“Aye.” Her voice was heavy with the weight of what was about to happen. “That I will.”

She waited until she could barely hear the sound of Dugan’s boots retreating down the stairs before she let her guard down briefly, stray tears mingling with the rainwater on her face, allowing herself this brief moment of weakness because she knew it would be her last. “From the sea we were born,” she whispered, her words snatched away by the wind before they could reach her own ears. “And to the sea we return.”

She was met by silence when she descended below deck, but not an uncomfortable silence. It was a silence that spoke of whispered discussions and decisions made and a grim understanding that every man here knew what she was about to do and had no intentions of stopping her. It was the resolved silence of a crew ready to die.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and addressed the faces in front of her. Her friends. “A captain must go down with her ship. That same duty does not extend to her crew.”

“From the sea we were born,” Dugan said gravely, and she had to fight back tears as her crew stared back at her; firm, solid, unwavering.

“And to the sea we return,” she responded, her voice strong and sure. “To your stations, men.”

“Aye, stations” came the resounding response, and she stood unmoving as the men who would die for her prepared to set sail on the last journey of their lives.

“Peg,” Dugan said softly from behind her once the rest of them were gone, and it was a mark of the sheer intimacy of what they were about to do together that he didn’t refer to her as Carter or Captain. “Tell me, at least. Is this about her?”

“It’s always about her,” she responded sharply, ascending the stairs without a backwards look and taking her place behind the ship’s wheel. “Lift the anchors!” she called over the roaring of the wind.

“Lifted!” came the reply.

“Ready the sails,” she said, quieter.

“Ready.”

“From the sea we were born,” she murmured, and the crew took up the chant as the black ship with the tattered sails, so small against the violent waves of the storm, sailed out of the safety of the cove for the last time.

_ From the sea we were born. From the sea we were born. From the sea we were born. _

The deck plunged downward and she looked up to see the crest of a magnificent wave rising above them, strangely beautiful in the way that it threatened destruction.

“And to the sea we will return,” she finished as the wave began its descent.

The last thing she felt was the water.


	2. A Harsh Mistress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys it's Sarah/TheRedGlass and OMG I am so sorry for how long it took to get this chapter finished, my life is insane right now. Hopefully this is worth the wait! I had a lot of fun introducing this AU version of Natasha.

Of all the vast stinking cities across a globe of ports and docks, Natasha held a special disdain for London. Though she had not been born within its walls, it was the first city she could remember and the first city she wished to forget. She stood at the edge of the city, the scent of saltwater and damp wood fading behind her in the bustling port. She did not relish leaving her ship for anything, and it took her another long moment to recommit to forward momentum and not without one more glance towards the docks.

Natasha trusted her crew immensely - if she had not trusted any one of them they would have been immediately left gutted open on a shore somewhere, a feast for gulls and scavengers - but the nature of the information she was about to attempt to acquire, what it could lead to, what it might mean for her and her crew, was a weight that she chose to bear upon her own shoulders. Once she had determined its value, if any, then she would involve her shipmates. 

She shouldered through the crowds milling in the packed, filthy streets, the hood of her well worn cloak pulled low so that she could see to find her way but not be seen herself. The pubs and taverns near the port could be a rough locale with an even rougher and fairly unvirtuous clientele who could not care less about a pirate in their midst, but one could never be certain there wasn’t a British officer hiding in a doorway nearby - or some other individual looking to cash in on the reward of turning in a pirate, especially a notorious one. 

She made it to the doorway of a pub on a corner street without incident, double checking the name on the chipped green painted sign before she slipped inside. The sudden confinement of being inside a building gave her pause. The cabin and below decks areas of her ship were one thing. The hulking, unmoving masses of wood and stone crouching weightily on the solid earth were quite another, and were too reminiscent of things better forgotten. Her breath caught for a moment, and the noise of the patrons grumbling and shouting and laughing and the clanking of tankards and an out of tune fiddle being played turned into a heady buzz. Thin dark tendrils of nightmares pressed at the edges of her mind, seeking a stronger hold - but she scowled and dispersed them with a practiced air. She would never be controlled by what had been. And besides, there was work to be done.

With such a full establishment, it was difficult to tell where to begin. The man she sought, the one who might have information worth leaving her ship for, found employment in this place, that she knew. But there were several men hanging around the long bar at the far wall of the place, any of whom could be the potential contact - there had been little personal detail in the information that had wound its way to her. While inconvenient, a necessary precaution. She narrowed her eyes and considered for a moment before she moved to take a seat on one of the high stools pressed up close to the bar, keeping her cloak wrapped around her. In a room full of thieves and smugglers and pickpockets, she did not stand out.

The raucous laughter from the men in varying stages of drunkenness cut in and out of their conversations and it took several moments for one of them to notice she’d joined the counter. 

“What’ll it be?” An older man with a dirty apron stretched across a portly stomach raised his voice above the din of the place, his sparse blonde beard trembling with the effort.

She casually raised a hand and swept it in the direction of a bottle of whiskey prominently displayed on the wall shelf. “Make it generous,” she said, keeping her voice low and deep.

He gave her a careless nod and fetched the bottle, pouring a portion into a mostly clean mug he fetched from a side table. She nodded her thanks in return and tossed some silver onto the bar, which the man collected before drifting back out into the main portion of the room amongst the patrons. 

Natasha sipped at the beverage, feeling it burn as it rolled down her throat, and took stock of the potential informants before her, tuning in to their conversation. 

“You shoulda been there to see ‘em!” a dark haired young man roared, nearly holding his sides from laughter. “Limpin’ offa their boat and scurryin’ into the nearest doorway! Like drownin’ rats they were! And they call themselves pirates!”

“Why, that wasn’t even the worst storm this season!” one of his mates chimed in, equally as smug and bemused.

An opportunity... She shifted in her seat, pushed a fake amused tone into her voice, and chimed in, “Ah, now, in fairness, they can’t all be Captain Carter!”

The men turned to focus on her, their laughter stilled for the moment.

The man with the dark hair turned towards her, amusement still sketched upon his face. “Aye,” he allowed. “But ‘tis not a fair comparison, pitting mortal men against the likes of a legend.”

“Legends begin with truth.”

“Some do.”

“You don’t believe Captain Carter sailed these waters?”

He shook his head, bemused. “You’re new to the sea, aren’t you? No mate, Captain Carter is a tale braided from other tales. Likely she was lover to a man disgraced, and they turned the story to something far more exciting, more noble.” He laughed. “A woman as a pirate captain, can you imagine?”

She hid a tight smile under the hood of her cloak, patiently dangerous. “No, I suppose not.”

“HEY!” She glanced up to see an older man with a bald head and a thick grey mustache pushing his way from the back of the group. “I don’t pay ya ta stand around and gab! Grab a rag and move!”

The small crowd of men dispersed with a grumble, but Natasha could feel the eyes of the newcomer on her. There was a silent sort of anticipation in the air, and a nameless feeling told her she had found the one she sought. She raised her tankard from the table. “To Captain Carter,” she said quietly. “May she rest in peace.” She took another swig of the liquor and waited.

The man grunted softly, raising the empty mug in his hand in a sort of toast in response. “Never known a pirate to get that privilege, but yeah, to Captain Carter.”

She slowly placed her drinkware back on the surface of the bar. “Sounds like you know your fair share of pirate lore.”

“T’weren’t all lore.”

She feigned surprise. “No?”

He shrugged, playing at a casualness. “Been here long enough, seen enough, heard enough, ya learn things.” He paused, coughed, fiddled with something on the mug in his hands. “Sometimes ya find things.”

“Do you?”

“Oh yes.”

She played with a loose thread on her sleeve. “Would be fascinating to see such things.”

He stepped behind the bar, pretending to refill her mug, and leaned in to murmur, “Third door on the left” before he stepped away quickly to yell at his staff again before disappearing into a hallway just to the side of the main bar.

Natasha waited an agonizing minute before following him to ward off suspicion or prying eyes. She knocked back the rest of her drink in a practiced motion, quickly assessed the area for threats, and then slid along the bar and into the hallway where the man had gone. Every nerve on edge, she checked her surroundings constantly to be certain she wouldn’t be followed or surprised or trapped. She reached the third door, and, finding it slightly ajar, slipped quickly inside and immediately flattened her back against the wall beside the door to avoid being vulnerable for even a moment.

The bald man had been fiddling with a desk drawer and only looked up, startled, when the door creaked in protest as she shut it.

“You move like a mouse, mate,” he said with a laugh.

The time for talking around the subject was long past. “I’ve been told you have something that shines light on what Captain Carter may have left behind,” she said, approaching the desk slowly.

“I might,” he admitted.

“I didn’t make this journey to receive maybes, I’m looking for something concrete.” Her voice had gone cold.

He grinned. “Well you see, so are a lot of people.”

“Do you have something or not. I have places to be.”

He seemed to sense her steely seriousness and slowly pulled a small book and a smaller metallic object from the drawer and laid them on top of the desk where she could see them.

“Tell me what I’m looking at.”

He carried on as though he still had the upper hand. “This,” he said laying a hand on top of the leather bound book. “Is the diary of an innkeeper who survived a Carter raid on his town. Got an entry there describing what he saw that day...but more importantly, what he heard.”

“Which was?” Her patience was ice thin.

“Carter talking about the treasure.”

Natasha scoffed. “Hundreds of those turn up every day.”

He tapped the book. “Ah, but this one has details the others could only dream of.”

“And why would Captain Carter allow anyone but her crew to hear such things?”

“On account of this.” He tapped the metallic object.

Natasha peered carefully at it, and when she realized what it was she had to work hard to restrain her surprise. “An eagle and star medallion,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

“Only crewmembers or those under her protection had them,” he said, voice veering into the smug territory.

She let long moments pass in silence. “That does lend credence to your claims,” she admitted finally.

“I told you. Now,” he said, leaning forward over the desk, and starting to sweep the items back into the drawer. “What’s in it for me?”

In a fraction of a second, Natasha yanked free one of the thin steel daggers hidden in her specially-made bracelets and stabbed through the man’s sleeve, nicking the skin of his arm and pinning him to the surface of the desk. He started to cry out but in another moment she had loosed another dagger and had it pressed to his throat. With her one free hand, she reached up and slowly lowered her hood, revealing her face and bright red hair for the first time. As realization and horror spread across his features, she smiled sweetly while her eyes maintained their harsh, steely focus. “You get to keep your organs inside your body.”

He gaped silently for a moment, mouth trembling as he attempted to speak. When he could finally manage to form words, it was only two, in a trembling whisper. “Black Widow…”

She smiled again, slowly removing the book and the coin from his grasp, and then patting his cheek condescendingly before she removed her dagger from his sleeve and the desk. “I suggest you return to your galley,” she murmured.

And then she pulled the hood back over her face and slipped from the room and was gone.

Years of practice made it easy to ghost through the crowds inside the pub and in the street, just one more cloak among many, just another product of the harsh streets with wounds inside and out, keeping secrets to keep themselves alive. But, she was forced to admit to herself, this newest secret made her heart race and her breath catch. She hurried back to the docks, racing up a gangplank to a handsome dark wood schooner, a Union Jack fluttering in the breeze from its tallest mast. A blonde haired man had been sitting on a barrel, peeling apples, but he jumped up as soon as she came into view. “Did you get it?” he asked, voice low.

She opened her cloak and allowed him the barest glimpse of the book tucked into an inner pocket before she tilted her head at the gangplank, indicating he should pull it up. “I’ll say no more until we’re in open ocean.”

He nodded in understanding and went to remove the gangplank. 

“And Stephen?”

He turned, waiting expectantly for commands.

She flicked a derisive look at the crossed bands of blue and white and red cloth merrily flowing in the wind overhead. “The moment it is safe to do so, get rid of that.”

“Aye captain.” He hurried away.

“Captain?”

Natasha turned to see another man, this one with shaggy dark dark hair, emerging from below decks, his one metal arm glinting in the sun.

“Weigh anchor,” she ordered, slipping the book and medallion from her cloak to hold them reverently in her hands. “We have what we came for.”

“Aye captain!” He dipped back below to call to the rest of the crew, and in a moment the deck was bustling with activity. As ropes shifted and sails caught wind and the vessel began to move, Natasha made her way slowly to the bow, watching the other ships melt away as they pushed out of the harbor and into the infinite blue. The sun was just beginning its descent over the limitless horizon as they began to pick up speed and leave the land behind them, trading the cloying confinement for the endless open ocean. 

A place full of freedom, and of promise.

Perhaps more so now, Natasha mused, running her fingers over the raised surface of the metal, admiring with wonder the eagle and star etched carefully there.

Behind her, the colorful flag of deception and of necessity had been removed, and rising with pride on its rope instead was a black cloth marked with a stark white hourglass shape outlining a grinning skull.


	3. Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's not even an excuse for how long this update took

Clint had always held a special place in his heart for the ports of Santorini. He liked them for the same reasons that so many others didn’t: the constant bustling energy that seemed too big for the tiny island, the docks seeming to overflow with ships as tradesmen came and went with their wares. The water, clear and blue as anything, gave rise to the jagged cliffs for which the island was famous, reaching up to pierce an impossibly blue sky. Tiny houses dotted the cliffs, but the heart of the village, where he was headed, lay just beyond the port.

His crew, save one, had elected to remain on the ship, despite Clint’s reassurance that this was likely one of the safest ports at which to step ashore. Unlike other ports plagued by pirate attacks, which usually became desolate and barren once they’d served their purpose, Santorini was thriving off of piracy. The citizens of the village were paid a handsome price to assure that they’d keep well enough to themselves and make no attempt to sabotage pirate business. In turn, their properties remained their own, and they were able to profit off of the pirates who spent generous amounts of money at the local ale houses and brothels.

It always amazed Clint, the ease with which the locals had been assimilated into the pirate culture. “I’d like to live here one day, you know,” he said to Thor as they picked their way across a crumbling portion of the dock. “Find Carter’s treasure and then retire here, nice and peaceful-like.”

Clint’s first mate threw his head back in laughter, his long blond hair rippling down his back. “There is nothing peaceful about this place, my friend.” The two men turned left into a narrow cobblestone alley that wound its way through the dingier parts of the small port-side town before finally ending at a stone wall about seven feet in height.

Thor laughed again. “Your directions seem to have misled us, Barton.”

“Have they?” he asked in response, tilting his head to the left where the late afternoon shadows thrown by the wall covered a weathered wooden door, hiding it well enough that no eyes would see it unless they knew what they were looking for.

Thor inclined his head towards his captain, his hair gleaming like the gold of legends in the setting sun. “I underestimated you.”

“A fatal mistake,” Clint responded with a smile, pressing a shoulder discreetly against the door behind him, his gaze searching the alleyway to ensure that no unwelcome eyes were present. The door slid noiselessly despite its outward appearance, and the two men quickly filed into a darkened room, the only light coming from a cluster of candles placed in the middle of a small square table.

With the blue sky and the bright sun feeling like distant memories behind them, Clint became all the more conscious of the absence of his bow. He could aim well enough with a knife but he missed the comforting weight of the weapon on his back, even though he understood how crucial it was that their purpose in Santorini, and his identity, remain unknown.

The tight-knit pirate community of Santorini had its disadvantages. Pirates, although more than capable of coexisting on land, had more enemies on the sea than there were fish in it. Most were inclined to disbelieve the rumours of Carter’s treasure on the grounds that, were it real, it would have been found already. Even more were convinced that the treasure had already been found, and to attempt to travel to its location was not only a suicide mission, but a fruitless one. There were a few, however, that still believed that the treasure was out there for the taking. Those pirates, although few and far between, were the most ruthless. They were the ones who dedicated their entire lives to the possibility of never finding what they were looking for. They were the ones with nothing to lose and everything to gain. They were the ones who would stop at nothing.

A soft knock came from the side opposite from where Clint and Thor had entered, and another door slid open silently, revealing a stooped woman with a candle in her hand, her grey hair tucked beneath a shawl. “Agnes.” Clint smiled kindly at the elderly woman, moving to embrace her.

“I hope my directions were clear,” she said, setting her candle down on the table next to the others. “You understand why we need to meet in secret, I am sure.”

“We understand,” Clint assured her, sliding onto one of the stools that surrounded the table. Thor moved to follow his lead. “My friend here,” Clint continued, “has an interest in history, in particular the legends that many seem to disbelieve.”

“The legend of Carter’s treasure,” Agnes replied.

“Aye,” Thor responded solemnly. “I’ve been told you believe in such things.”

Clint had chosen Thor for this particular mission for multiple reasons. Firstly, he liked Thor. He trusted his first mate more than any other member of his crew, and he knew that Thor was loyal to him and him alone. Secondly, with the combination of his Scandinavian complexion, his accented English, and the well-spoken way he had about him, Thor seemed more like a foreign scholar than he did a pirate.

“It’s dangerous information you’re looking for,” the old woman told him, a steely glint in her eye as she looked from Thor to Clint and back again. “Be sure you’re searching for the right reasons.”

“I chase stories,” Thor told her amiably. “Not treasure.”

“Then I may have something of interest to you,” Agnes said, “if it’s truly stories you’re looking for. But be warned that this is a story that can only be found in pieces. It’s driven many men to the very edge of insanity.”

“I’ve resisted the pull of insanity before,” Thor replied. “I’ll do it again, if need be.”

Agnes nodded, a small, wrinkled hand reaching into the folds of her cloak. The object in her hand glittered in the candlelight as it emerged, causing the flames to dance across its surface as she placed it carefully in the center of the table.

“A piece of eight,” Clint commented.

“Ah,” she said with a small smile, shaking her head very slightly. “Look closer.”

“Coordinates.” Thor ran his thumbnail along the outside edge of the coin, tracing the numbers.

“Turn it over,” Agnes prompted, her eyes wide as if she shared in their excitement.

Clint leaned closer over the table, squinting his eyes in an effort to make out the writing that was decidedly not English. “Is that…?”

“Italian,” she confirmed. “Rumour has it that Carter had Italian ties somewhere. Would you believe I’ve had this trinket for nearing ten years now, and I’ve never bothered to figure out what it says?”

“And where do the coordinates lead?” Clint asked, making every effort to hide his breathlessness as the conversation teetered on the edge of the information he and his crew had spent months searching for.

“That’s the thing,” Agnes shrugged, picking the coin up and turning it over in her hand. “No one knows.”

“May I keep this?” Thor asked, indicating the coin in her hand. “Many historians are inclined to disbelieve stories without visible evidence.”

She dropped the coin back on the table. “Trade me a real piece of silver for it and you’ve got yourself a deal. I can’t exactly put food on the table with this useless thing, and from what I’ve heard of the legends it’ll turn out to be more trouble than it’s worth.”

The last vestiges of sun were disappearing over the horizon as the two men exited the tavern through its front entrance, Agnes’ coin carefully concealed between the folds of Clint’s cloak. The cloudless sky above them was painted with a sunset to rival any Clint had ever seen. A mark of their victory, he thought, as he pressed his hand against the spot on his chest where he knew the coin to be hidden.

Thor seemed to be thinking something similar as he tilted his head upwards. “Red sky.”

“Clear sailing tomorrow,” Clint responded. “We’ve been lucky twice today.”

“Aye,” Thor agreed. “But luck runs out sooner than you’d think.”

“Not if we run faster,” Clint countered, his heavy boots thumping against the wooden planks of the dock as they made their way to its edge, where their ship lay camouflaged under a simple merchant’s flag. “Sails up, boys!”

“And girls.” Wanda landed catlike on the dock next to him, her nimble fingers making quick work of the knots that held their ship tethered. “Never forget that you’d be lost without me.”

“Lost is where we’re going,” Clint answered, producing the silver coin from inside his cloak. It shone like copper in the dying sunlight, emitting an ethereal glow that seemed to entrance his crew. “Set course northwest.”

A shadow, however brief, crossed Wanda’s face as she eyed the coin in her captain’s hand. “What’s there to be found northwest?”

“We’ll find out when we get there,” Clint answered, running his finger over the mysterious coordinates as the  _ Hawk’s Eye _ pulled away from the dock. “But she’s seen more than her share of ports these days, this ship. It’s time she got back to the sea.”

The ships sails billowed out in front of them, pulling taut as they caught the wind and began to speed them away from the harbour. “Lang!” Clint called, as the islands began to fade quickly into the horizon behind them. “See what you can do about this offensive thing.”

The man at the bow followed Clint’s gaze to the merchant flag that still hung above them, its protection no longer needed now that they were at open sea. “Aye, Captain.”

The merchant’s banner fell, and a grinning skull rose in its place, the tattered black edges of the flag rippling against the vivid red of the sky above them.

Wanda took her customary position beside Clint at the ship’s helm, her keen eyes trained on the horizon. “What will we find,” she asked quietly, “when we get to where we’re going?”

Her question, an echo of the one she’d posed earlier, came out almost as a warning to Clint, and he recalled a previous conversation where she’d warned him against his pursuit of the myth they were chasing.

_ “Carter’s a ghost,” she’d told him quietly, her words swallowed by the night. “Do you mean to follow in her footsteps?” _

_ “I mean to create my own path,” he’d responded. “One which you are not obligated to tread.” _

_ “My only remaining family is on this ship,” Wanda had told him, and the ferocity in her eyes could have bested a thousand storms. “I’ll go where it takes me.” _

“We’ll find a ghost,” Clint told her quietly. “That’s all I know.”

With one last glance at the darkening sky, red fading into black above them, Wanda turned on her heel, her tattered cloak flapping in the breeze behind her as she descended below deck, the clacking of her boots echoing in the stairwell.

Clint spared one last look at the sky, now almost completely dark, with the night’s first stars beginning to appear. Taking a deep breath, he fixed his gaze upon the horizon, one hand on the wheel, the other curled around the silver coin in his pocket. “Well, Carter,” he said to himself as the  _ Hawk’s Eye _ began her journey into unknown territory. “Let’s see what you’re hiding.”


	4. Out of His League

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, it's TheRedGlass/Sarah and I'm embarrassed as to how long this took me; I'm going to plead 'life insanity' and promise to do better next time. Please enjoy this intro of Tony

With a glass of fine wine in one hand and some kind of delicate exotic fruit in the other, Lord Anthony Stark made another slow, deliberate lap around the room, eyeing the other nobles and offering a charming smile whenever he made eye contact with someone. But his focus was elsewhere, and his pace made that clear. Of course he would never be so improper as to obviously rush through the stiffly polite and formal groups of nobility and gentry - his title of lord was in a precarious situation as it was, due to a family scandal some years past - but he simply did not have the patience nor the time to fully devote himself to playing the part when so many of the formalities were a futile use of time that could be spent on his one true purpose in life.

Capturing the heart of the queen.

He subtly craned his neck towards the gilded double doors at the opposite end of the room, where he knew the queen was having private audiences with certain other nobles, addressing concerns over taxes and property inheritance and issues of state...and perhaps flirting with some of the gentlemen.... His grip tightened on his goblet and he had to consciously relax his hand. The few times he’d been able to speak with the queen, there had been such a spark, as after a storm - she was witty and brilliant and matched his every quip with one of her own, as opposed to the ladies of the court who seemed mostly to find him distasteful on account of being too sure of himself, too loud, too real instead of the polished marble statues other noblemen seemed to become so easily. 

But his status fell far below hers and he knew this, knew he would have to earn her attention and keep it if there was ever to be a chance of something more than conversation. And Anthony Stark did not take a challenge lightly. 

In the past year, he’d vastly expanded his fortune, acquiring land and manor homes and precious stones. He had innovated a more efficient method of harvesting grain and built an alcohol distillery from the ground up - one that was powered entirely by steam pressure and barely required human intervention. He had yet again upgraded his fleet of sailing ships with new materials and features that he had created by hand in his workshop, making the vessels easier to navigate and more resistant to storms and pirate attacks, and thus increased his net value at least tenfold.

And yet it never seemed enough. 

He knew the queen was occupied with many things - the demands and details of an entire country and its vast empire, in fact - but he had secretly hoped that by now, one of his many accomplishments would have made its way to her ear via one of the many gossip channels lords and ladies of the court were well known to engage in. He was disappointed, but not much surprised, for he knew many held a dim view of him in light of his wealth being more earned than simply inherited - a truth that irked him ceaselessly, for he felt hard work certainly meant far more than happening into wealth through a sheer accident of circumstances and birth. But the rest of world did not seem to agree, and was stuck in the manner of thinking that had been more or less the same for centuries. Perhaps he did not belong to this time at all, he mused silently, delicately swirling the drink in his glass. Perhaps he had been meant for some time in the future.

But thoughts such as those did nothing to assist him with the task at hand. He cleared his mind and surreptitiously made his way closer to the doors at the other end of the room, one step at a time, smiling gently at anyone who noticed him. Ever so slowly, those doors came closer and closer. He was utterly making up a plan as he went along, but he had been away and had only found the invitation upon his return - mere hours before the event had begun. He hadn’t had time to put together his usual plan of charming banter and sly social maneuvers, but he was fully confident in himself - he merely had to find the right strategy.

He was nearly to the doors, eyeing the guards casually and trying to decide on the best course of action, when there was a gentle touch on his sleeve.

“Sir, I don’t believe this is the best course of action,” came a deep, tired voice from just off to his side.

He turned to see a handsome dark skinned man in a sharp royal blue suit staring back at him, a look of utter, extreme patience gracing his strong features.

“Now, Rhodes,” Anthony Stark replied, toying with the stem of his glass. “I’m certain I haven’t the faintest of ideas as to what you could be implying.”

James Rhodes looked as though he was moments from a heavy sigh but restrained himself due to the circumstances.

Anthony chuckled and clapped him warmly on the shoulder. “I suppose I never would have chosen you as my advisor if I didn’t think that you would be perpetually observant and invested in my well being.”

“I try, sir. Emphasis on try.”

“However,” he continued. “If you are as invested in my well being as you appear to be, certainly you would not be here attempting to sabotage my attempts at happiness.”

“Her Majesty will not-”

“Rhodes, you’ve seen us together, surely you’ve noticed the fire in our conversations, how the two of us become an entity unto ourselves when we speak, how no one else in the room can match us for sheer wit and intelligence! We’re a match made in the heavens!”

“She is the queen,” Rhodes replied simply, his tone making clear that this was not the first time that they had had this particular conversation.

“Yes yes, and I’m merely a low-ranking lord,” Anthony muttered dismissively.

“Sir.” Rhodes placed a hand on Anthony’s sleeve once more, trying to be sympathetic while also remaining practical. “It is no one’s fault, merely an unfortunate accident of circumstances. She could not help being born into her situation, and you could not help being born into yours. No, it is not fair, but such is life. What could you do?” He smiled sadly. “You would have far greater luck recovering the lost treasure of Captain Carter than of marrying the queen.”

Anthony froze, turning to his advisor slowly. “Say that once more.”

Rhodes appeared taken aback. “I apologize, I merely meant-”

“Say it again!”

“You….would have more luck acquiring the lost treasure of Captain Carter than-”

“Precisely, thank you my good man.” For all the trouble they had been giving him up to that moment, it seemed that with Rhodes’ words the stars were now aligning for his benefit - for as soon as he began to repeat what he’d said, the doors to the receiving chamber opened and two higher ranked lords strolled out slowly, giving Anthony enough time to gratefully clasp Rhodes’ arm and quickly turn to meet the lords as they exited and spin around them before the guards had realized what was happening and just that easily he found himself standing inside the room he’d had his eye on all evening...a mere thirty feet from the queen.

Queen Virginia looked up, a generic, polite smile pasted on her face - a look that slipped away to be replaced by one of surprise. “Lord Stark,” she said, quickly returning the mild smile to her face.

“Your majesty,” he replied, bowing low.

At that moment, the guards he had slipped past hurried into the room. “Deepest apologies, your majesty,” one said, grabbing for Anthony.

He darted away. “Two minutes of address, your majesty, that is all I request,” he pleaded sincerely.

The other guard grabbed for him before Queen Virginia held up a hand. “Two minutes,” she agreed. “Thank you for your diligence, gentlemen, but I will allow him two minutes to speak his piece.”

The guards backed out of the room, bowing and making murmured apologies. At the sound of the doors pulling shut behind him, Anthony dared to straighten up and look into her eyes. “You’re looking well, your majesty,” he said with deep sincerity. 

“Two minutes, Lord Stark,” she reminded him, not unkindly.

“If I may be so bold,” he said, quickly crossing the room to stand mere feet from the throne where she sat. “We both know there is something here that defies logic, that defies rank!”

“You presume much, Lord Stark,” Queen Virginia replied, but there was a slight blush about her cheeks and a note of melancholy to her words.

“I don’t think I do,” he said solemnly. He let a few moments of profound silence follow, echoing loudly with unsaid things in the space of that tiny room. The queen said nothing, but glanced away. He let a few more seconds tick by, then gathered his courage and spoke again. “Your majesty, if memory serves me correctly, you have a particular fondness for the legend of Captain Margaret Carter and her lost treasure.”

She looked back at him quickly, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, that was a...silly thing. From my youth. We’re all raised on stories.”

“Forgive me for my boldness, but I do believe you discussed aspects of the story with your handmaidens at the Victory Ball last autumn.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I simply overheard, I did not eavesdrop with intent. But....your majesty: what if it was no mere legend? What if I told you that the story has merit, that I have seen evidence that the treasure does exist, and I may know how to locate it?”

Something youthful and excited and demonstrably un-monarch-like flashed through Virginia’s eyes for a moment, before she replaced it with her practiced look of professional detachment. “I find that very difficult to believe,” she replied, with a hint of amusement.

“I would not lie to you, your majesty,” he said solemnly. “What if...what if I could bring you this treasure? Prove my worth to you?”

There was another long, pregnant moment of silence that filled the air in the receiving chamber. He could almost see the thoughts working away in her head, her own internal struggle. 

“I suppose,” she said at last, her voice soft and carefully controlled. “That might make many regard you with a new light.”

A broad smile broke across his face.

“I cannot promise you anything,” she said quickly, though he could see a faint spark of excitement in her eyes that she desperately tried to smother.

“Of course not,” he replied just as quickly. “I must prove myself to you first.” And before he could think too deeply about what he was about to do, he took another three steps forward and gently took her hand, lifting it to his lips while giving her time to stop him.

She did not.

He met her eyes with a gentle smile as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand. She allowed herself to grant him a small smile in return.

Anthony then turned and hurried back to the doors that led out of the room. “Forgive me your majesty!” he called out as he jogged to the exit, turning to flash her another bright smile. “But I have much work to do!”

With that, he exited the doors still facing her, pivoted on his heel past the guards, took Rhodes by the arm, and hurried him out of the palace.

“Sir?!” Rhodes asked, working to keep up with his lord’s excited pace.

“My good man, we are going to recover Captain Carter’s treasure and win the heart and hand of the queen at last,” he announced proudly as he steered them to his carriage, pulled by two tall sleek shining bay steeds, who were tossing their heads impatiently.

Rhodes came to a full stop in the middle of the street. “Have you lost your mind?!” he demanded.

“Not at all, not at all,” he said, still smiling as he dug into a valise inside the carriage. “I thought they were merely rumors too, but there have been too many mentions in the logs my crews have brought back, of chatter they’ve noticed in the seaports, things they’ve seen.” He turned to face his advisor, eyes flashing. “Most of it directly from pirates.”

“Sir, I do believe you are the one who is constantly advising that pirates are not to be trusted.”

“Of course they’re not to be trusted, not ever. Except when it comes to their treasures, and when they don’t know they’re being surveilled.” He made a shooing motion at Rhodes, gesturing him inside the carriage, while he climbed up to the seat himself and gathered the horse’s reins in his hands.

Rhodes scrambled inside the carriage, slamming the door shut behind him and quickly grabbing onto the most sturdy surfaces inside and bracing himself. “Sir-” he started to say, a pleading note to his voice.

“I don’t care what resources you need, how many men, you requisition whatever you need and I’ll take care of it,” he said, his own voice wild with excitement. “I want the _War Machine_ out of drydock within a week. We’re going to catch some pirates.” 

And with that, he lifted the reins high and slapped them against the horses’ backs and the whole carriage shot forward like an explosion.


	5. A Thief in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, Jess here with (hopefully) the first of many updates that aren't posted a year apart!
> 
> I just wanted to leave a quick note to tell you all that Sarah and I have been OVERWHELMED by the amazing response to this story even in its introductory stages. Thank you all so much for all your support and please continue to speculate in the comments, it's so fun to see!
> 
> Happy reading and lots of love <3

As far back as she could remember, the open sea was the first place that Natasha had truly felt at home. It was a place where she could abandon all pretenses and be as cold, or as soft, as she wanted; a place of truth where raw humanity met raw nature. A place she longed to return to after even the shortest stint on land. And so as the bustling ports of London disappeared into the horizon until they were nothing but a haze behind her ship, Natasha couldn’t help the uninhibited grin that began to spread across her face.

The wind of the open sea tore at her cloak, pulling her hair free of its restraints, and her crimson curls tumbled down her back like a fire. Almost subconsciously, she reached down to brush her hand against the pocket containing the book and coin she’d just obtained, ensuring their safety. 

 “Barnes!” 

 The man with the shaggy dark hair poked his head back above deck, grinning as he felt the sea air hit his face. “Captain?”

 “Set course southeast. We have work to do yet.”

 “Aye, Captain!” His metal hand glinted in the bright mid-afternoon sun as he turned the wheel to adjust their course. “Sails at the ready, crew! She’ll fly there in no time with this wind!”

 A slight woman swung down from the mast to land catlike on the ship’s deck, her dark hair pulled into a knot at the base of her neck. “Clear sailing up ahead, Captain.”

 “Right,” Natasha murmured under her breath, pulling the small leather-bound book from beneath her cloak to hold it carefully in her hands. “Let’s see what you’re hiding, Carter.”

 Natasha knew that her reputation preceded her. Few had crossed paths with the infamous Black Widow and her crew. Fewer still had lived to tell of it, and those that did spoke only in whispers and told tales only in part. Fear trailed in her wake, everywhere she went. She liked that.

 If one were, however, to step on board her ship, they’d find it impossible to reconcile the terrors of pirate legend with the lively atmosphere her crew displayed at open sea. She liked that too.

 As it turned out, you couldn’t chase mysteries without becoming one yourself.

 “Rogers.” He was at her side in an instant, eyes shining with anticipation as she held the book out towards him, her finger marking a page of particular interest. “Tell me what you make of this.”

 His eyes widened as he pored over the text in front of him. The pages of the book were weathered, but well-preserved. It was clear that someone had taken great care to conceal the secrets they held.

 “The resting place of a trusted friend.” His fingers traced the words reverently as he read them. 

 Natasha nodded. “On the next page the innkeeper makes mention that their ship left port the next day, destined for San Sebastián.”

“And you think Carter was telling the innkeeper the truth?”

“I’ve heard tell that she had allies in every port. A trustworthy friend here and there, ones that would keep quiet when her and her crew came around. Makes the life easier, you know, when you can slip in and out of places without being noticed. No one can stay at sea forever. Now these are things I’d be inclined to disbelieve,” and here Natasha reached into her pocket, pulling out the medallion emblazoned with the eagle and star, “were it not for this.”

“Resting place…” Stephen mused. “But that must be-”

“A graveyard,” Natasha finished, nodding in agreement. “The only ones among us who rest are the dead.”

Natasha prefered to keep her crew on a need-to-know basis. Compartmentalization was key, particularly where piracy was concerned. It was harder for someone to accidentally give away secrets when they only knew partial truths. With Carter’s treasure, however, it seemed that everything was need-to-know. You couldn’t ask people to chase a ghost, a  _ curse _ , without telling them why. The added benefit being that the majority of people still thought Carter’s treasure was mere legend, and assumed that any conversation surrounding it was simply the drunken ramblings of a fool. There were plenty of drunken fools out there to support this hypothesis. It took a keen set of eyes to see past them.

“Rogers,” Natasha said, and a grin began to spread across her face, the same grin that was the last thing most of her enemies ever saw. “We’re going to rob a dead man.”

It was mid-day when they pulled into the port of San Sebastián, the sun shining bright overhead yet again, illuminating the sparkling waters of the bay. Their ship, much to Natasha’s chagrin, was once more camouflaged under the British flag, its colourful stripes flapping merrily in the wind. The bustling, energetic port housed a host of military ships, but it also served as a waypoint for merchants and travelers; the docks and small village were constantly full of people just passing through. It made it the perfect place to hide in plain sight.

She sent Stephen and Maria up to the small cemetery on the hill, on the pretense of visiting the grave of Stephen’s grandfather. The rest of them were to re-stock the ship for their upcoming journey at sea, and wait for nightfall and Natasha’s directions.

Night came clear and cool, the breeze gently ruffling the tops of the trees. Natasha waited until the moon was fully overhead, the sky full of twinkling stars, before slipping off of her ship alone, her cloak drawn tightly around her to conceal the sword sheathed at her hip. There was no reason for her to be expecting trouble, but she prepared for it all the same. Her journey up the hill proved uneventful, and she slipped soundlessly into the graveyard, a shadow in the night.

Barnes was already there, dressed in a grave digger’s clothes, whistling softly to himself as he dug beneath the headstone that Stephen and Maria had marked earlier, stopping only when he heard the dull  _ thunk _ of his spade hitting metal. 

Natasha slipped into the hole he’d dug to help him pry open the casket. A grinning skull greeted them as they lifted the lid, a pirate’s hat perched jauntily atop its head in a way that would appear almost comical, were it not for the gravity of what they were doing. Natasha lifted the hat and reached inside, feeling along the seam before reaching into her cloak for a knife. She made a quick incision, pulling out a piece of parchment, old and weathered and frayed at the edges. Tucked inside the parchment, just barely visible, was the glint of a silver medallion.

She spared a covert glance around the empty graveyard before slipping both of these items under her cloak with her knife and inclining her head to Barnes briefly. She left the graveyard the same way she had entered.

Barnes took up his low whistle once again as he began to pile earth back onto the grave that was simply marked  _ SAWYER _ , taking care to pack the earth flat with the back of his spade.

Despite the late hour, Natasha was met by the wide eyes of her curious crew when she slipped below deck of her ship. The fire in the hearth and the smattering of mugs on the table indicated that none of them had slept that night.

“It seems,” she said quietly, aware of the palpable energy in the air as the entire crew held their breath in unison, waiting for her to speak, “that our source in London did not lead us astray.” They stared in awe as she deposited the weathered parchment on the table in front of them, and alongside it, the second silver medallion emblazoned with the eagle and star denoting a member of Carter’s crew.

Their reverent murmuring was silenced as a creaking on the steps above denoted Barnes’ return to the ship. “Were you seen?” Natasha asked him as he appeared behind her.

He shook his head slowly. “Not a soul.”

Natasha nodded. “Weigh anchor. I’d like to get this place far enough behind us before anyone finds out what’s been done here tonight.”

“Aye, Captain!” came the resounding chorus from the crew as they rose from the table and set out to their respective positions. It wasn’t long before their ship was slipping out of the bay and into the open sea once again, as silent and as deadly as the ghosts they were chasing.

Natasha was leaning over the scrubbed wooden table, poring over the parchment in front of her and trying to decipher the foreign language in which it was written, when Stephen’s shout came from above. “Captain!”

She hurried up the stairs, hand on the pommel of her sword. “What is it, Stephen?”

He pointed, and Natasha’s gaze followed his finger until she saw a shadow in the distance, rapidly moving closer. Her breath caught in her throat as the shadow drew closer and became the outline of a ship. She’d recognize that ship anywhere. It was almost as infamous as her own.

Unease and dread gripped her like the plague as Natasha watched his ship come ever closer, clearly making for the same port that her and her crew had just left behind them. She knew there were a multitude of other reasons why he might be there, but the growing pit of unease in the bottom of her stomach told her the truth, a truth that she’d been afraid to acknowledge ever since their quest had begun.

They weren’t the only ones chasing a legend.

“You know that ship.” Maria appeared beside them, her gaze following Stephen’s and Natasha’s. It wasn’t a question.

“Well.” Natasha found herself unable to tear her gaze away from the advancing ship, so close that she could make out the outline of a man staring back at her. She shivered, trying to suppress the chill that ran through her body. “It’s a good thing we’re sailing through the night, crew. It seems we have a little competition.”


	6. Vigilance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BACKSTREET'S BACK, ALRIGHT!!!
> 
> WHAT UP FAM it's everyone's second favourite author of this fic back with another TONY update!!!
> 
> a few things:  
> -we know it's been 3 years since we've updated. we realize that we're probably screaming into the void at this point. in the unlikely event that any of you are still around, we'd love to hear from you.  
> -tony is likely to become a bigger fixture in this story than originally intended mainly because he's SO FUN TO WRITE  
> -Castle on the Hill is without a doubt the best Ed Sheeran song  
> -read this SLOWLY because we have no idea when the next update is coming

Lord Anthony Stark watched approvingly as sailors rolled casks of his finest vintage wines up _War Machine_ ’s planks and onto her deck. She was already loaded down with provisions that could last her crew months, if necessary, even though he planned on calling at several ports long before then, but Anthony liked to travel in style. As a man whose coin had been hard-earned, he didn’t think anyone could begrudge him the few creature comforts that he indulged in. And besides, the idea of sipping on Spanish red whilst chasing down pirates only served to make the adventure seem all the more enticing.

Rhodes, however, was not likewise enticed. “Sir, I still think-”

“I know what you think, Rhodes.” They’d had this same conversation countless times over the past fortnight as _War Machine_ had been prepared for her upcoming voyage. The preparations had taken far longer than Anthony had expected, and he was growing ever more impatient about the delay.

“Carter’s treasure isn’t going anywhere, Sir,” Rhodes would tell him. “It’s quite hard to go somewhere when one doesn’t exist.”

Anthony would not have accepted such insolence from anyone other than Rhodes. The man was a good advisor, to be certain, but he was an even better friend. A friend who, unfortunately, had taken to spending his every waking moment attempting to convince Anthony to abandon this ‘ridiculous fantasy’ of his.

He had almost been convinced. And then he’d seen the Queen in passing one day, when he’d been leaving court. Their eyes had met but briefly, but he hadn’t missed the soft smile that had graced her face, rendering her impossibly beautiful. All it had taken was a short glimpse of what he was fighting for, and Anthony had returned to his plots with a vengeance, much to Rhodes’ dismay.

“You didn’t let me finish.” A slow smile began to spread across Rhodes’ face as he produced a bottle and two glasses. “I think we should drink a toast to our upcoming voyage. She’ll be ready to leave port by sunrise.”

“Why James!” Anthony exclaimed in exaggerated surprise. “I do believe I’ve brought you round to my way of thinking.”

“What can I say?” his friend replied. “It turns out I haven’t lost my thirst for adventure after all.”

“Nor your thirst for wine, I hope?”

“Nor that, sir, but yours is still unparalleled.” Rhodes uncorked the bottle in his hand and handed Anthony a glass.

“To adventure!” Anthony declared, inclining his glass against Rhodes’ before taking a sip. “And a brave new-”

He paused, glass halfway to his mouth, as a carriage caught his eye, slowly winding its way down to the docks. The curtains were drawn tightly closed, but he couldn’t mistake that silhouette.

“Sir?” Rhodes inquired, following his gaze.

“A moment,” he answered, and he began weaving his way through the crowded docks to the edge where the carriage had come to rest. Just as he was wondering whether it would be rude to enter without leave, a slender hand slid the curtain open.

Anthony inclined his head. “Your majesty.”

Her eyes twinkled as she smiled. “Were you always so formal, Lord Stark?”

“I fear not, your majesty. A foolish man I once was, and young. But I have learned much since then.”

“And will have learned much more, I hope, once you return from this quest of yours.”

“Then you believe it,” he said breathlessly. “That Carter’s treasure is out there somewhere. That it can be found.”

“Of that I have no doubt. Nor do I doubt that if any man were to find it, it would be the man standing in front of me. I only wish that I could partake in such an adventure.”

“Come with us,” he told her, forgetting himself.

The queen laughed; a soft, musical sound. “Would that I could, Lord Stark. But alas, I do have a kingdom to rule. I look forward to hearing your stories upon your return.”

“I look forward to sharing them,” he told her earnestly.

In a daring fit of gallantry, he seized her hand, raising it ever so slowly to his lips. His eyes held hers the entire time, expecting her to pull away, to stop him, to admonish him for being so presumptuous.

She didn’t.

His lips, parted ever so slightly, ghosted across the smooth skin of the back of her hand, lingering a touch longer than was proper. He could feel her hand tremble in his, almost imperceptibly, although her eyes betrayed nothing.

“I have something for you,” she said softly as he lowered her hand. She turned to rummage among the drapes behind her, before pulling out a long, jeweled scabbard.

He reached for it hesitantly, fingers brushing over the line of rubies in the scabbard that shimmered mysteriously in the dim light of the carriage. The hilt was simple, but elegant, comfortable in his hand. He mentally added this to the list of things about her that would never stop surprising him.

“Where did you get a sword? I would think the royal guard would frown upon the Queen having to defend her own life.”

“It was my father’s,” she explained. “And his father’s before him. A family heirloom, of sorts. But when my parents died without an heir, well, it was left up to me to do with it as I chose. This is what I choose.”

Anthony shook his head, pushing the sword back towards her. “I can’t accept this. This is a king’s sword. It belongs to your future betrothed.”

A sad smile flickered briefly across her face. “I’m not as anxious for that day as you might think, Lord Stark.”

“You don’t wish for a husband?” he asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“I do,” she replied. “But I see no need to marry for politics. It’s time for the kingdom to let a queen be a queen, regardless of who does or does not sit beside her.”

“All I know, Your Majesty, is that whoever has the honour to sit beside you will be a lucky man indeed.”

A cry from the dock reminded Anthony of the crew waiting on his ship, eager for their first orders. He bowed his head, respectfully. “By your leave, Your Majesty.”

“Lord Stark!” she called after him as he turned to leave. “Your sword.”

This time, he took the proffered scabbard without protest. “All great swords need a name. Does this have one?”

This time her smile was uninhibited, and full of hope. “ _Vigilance._ ”

As Lord Anthony Stark walked up _War Machine’s_ gangplank for the final time before they would set out to sea, it was with _Vigilance_ strapped to his waist and a new hope that buoyed his spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are a few people i need to thank for making this chapter possible:
> 
> -the chinese takeout place down the street for making the best kung pao chicken ever  
> -the sensible part of my brain for being JUST awake enough at 1am to yell "WE'RE NOT NAMING THE SWORD JARVIS"  
> -my cat, for existing
> 
> WE SCREAM INTO THE VOID! COME SCREAM BACK:  
> Sarah: [thereddestglass.tumblr.com](http://thereddestglass.tumblr.com/)  
> Jess: [natrasharomanova.tumblr.com](http://natrasharomanova.tumblr.com/) / twitter [@hoboskywalker](https://twitter.com/hoboskywalker)


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